


it comes in threes

by skateboardachoo



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Rating will probably change, also politics?, aw shit forgot to mention there's a dash of arranged marriage too, background hoshi/minghao, background mingyu/wonwoo, background scoups/woozi, boo seungkwan and the men who will cause revolution for him, kinda sorta prince and his bodyguard, oops all lore!, y'all like world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skateboardachoo/pseuds/skateboardachoo
Summary: “The Winter Court humbly requests a union between you, Prince Boo Seungkwan and their son Prince Xu Minghao,” the King delivers plainly and diplomatically.And, really, the final nail in the coffin for Seungkwan is Hansol, taking a deep breath and flicking open that damned black leather notebook of his and in a too professional tone for this entire nightmare hellscape situation saying:“Who would like me to contact for the planning of the wedding, Your Majesty?”
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Chwe Hansol | Vernon
Comments: 13
Kudos: 71





	it comes in threes

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this for a different fandom almost a year and a half ago, but spent almost an entire year prior worldbuilding this thing. i never finished it mostly because i left that fandom! i love the story, i love the world i crafted, and after reading it back over for the first time in like a year i figured it wasn't half bad. so i adapted it for a fandom i actually care about.
> 
> um. i have lots of Lore and have this story fully outlined, but i believe in it enough that i'm just sending it out into the world now! it’s 2021 and i’ll post a 1/? wip if i want to. 
> 
> thank you to isi for reading this over and being like "okay this is really good," and to both her and kim for helping me figure out the new casting of characters! 
> 
> this is unbetaed so any and all mistakes are my own! i hope u enjoy:)

“This is ludicrous! That menace of a boy can barely conjure a single leaf without blowing something up and now you’re telling me he’s just delivered a legitimate prophecy?” the nobleman questions, tight-lipped and fuming, staring down through the stain glass windows at the grounds below.

“He is an Ariolo line descendent and this is what he was born to do—” the other man says, twisting the cufflinks of his suit. 

“I don’t care what he was born to do, he’s a danger to our society and I won’t tolerate his ilk being in the court, he’ll taint my own son with his mania and delusions,” the nobleman spits out, turning to the other man. 

“Duke Chwe, Lee Seokmin is five. He’s barely of age to start casting proper spells let alone join the court, he’s not a danger to young master Hansol—”

“Yet.”

“We shall see in time, my Lord.”

“Regardless, what did the boy apparently See?”

“My Lord, it was a real prophecy. I was at the Hollow with my wife when it happened, I saw it with my own two eyes. The boy’s eyes went pale as a specter and he spoke in a voice that wasn’t his own. The voice sounded as though it were coming from planes away. It was… haunting. The Hollow went cold and bulbs blew out. It was like a vacuum, I felt my magic leave. As if the voice possessing the boy had stolen everyone’s magic for itself. I had only read what happens to a Seer when they present a legitimate prophecy, but this… this was horrifying,” the man says, barely keeping his own voice steady.

“And, what did he say?”

“I… I cannot tell you, Duke. I was sworn to secrecy from the Augur herself.” 

“The Augur who has sworn an oath with the Storm King, the very man I act as an extension of as Minister of the Keep. This falls completely within my domain, _Baron_ Kwon. Now tell me the damn prophecy or I will put a motion forward with the Navel to strip you of your title!” Duke Chwe says, approaching Baron Kwon.

“May I just ask one question, Chwe. If you act as an extension of the King and are so important, why has this majesty not told you himself what the prophecy is?” dares Baron Kwon.

“Make no attempt to patronize me, Kwon. I can have your magic removed in addition to your title. Now tell me the fucking prophecy!” Duke Chwe grabs onto the lapels of the Baron’s suit, wrenching his shoulders around.

“Resorting to physical violence, I see? How unbecoming of a noble witch. Fine, but I’ll remember this conversation for when it suits me most, Duke Chwe,” taunts Baron Kwon.

“Your words don’t frighten me, Baron. Tell me.”

“ _The sun, the moon, and the stars shall rule separately once the tempest is calmed._ ” 

“How delightfully poetic.”

☾

As lovely as the filtered pastel light from the whorls and loops of the stained glass windows in his bedroom were, Seungkwan would rather take a stunning hex to the forehead concussing him instantly than deal with the pounding headache he just woke up with. He curses himself because he was stupid enough to go to Jeonghan’s Midsummer Soiree For Witches Up To No Good and even stupider to forget to take a hangover prevention draught. 

He groans, shoving his head in between the piles of down pillows stacked on his bed and waves a hand in the general direction of the windows to summon a grouping of cumulonimbus just to cover his side of The Royal Keep’s grounds. He’ll take some flack from his father later for that minor stunt but he does not have it in him to call on literally any of the Keep’s staff to bring him a hangover tonic. 

The last thing he needs to get around in the gossip of the staff is that his Royal Highness, Prince of Tempests, Order of Nimbostratus, Boo Seungkwan is idiotic enough to get shit-faced at Marquis Yoon’s son’s Midsummer party for only the “coolest and hottest” (those were Jeonghan’s words on the invite, not his) of the witch elite and socialites. 

It was nice though, being able to just hang out in Jeonghan’s French Quarter apartment and just _be_. Just forget that they were all the next generation of politicians and businesspeople and influencers to govern and rule the witching realms, nice to get away from the shrill words of their politician parents day in and day out, nice to just be Boo Seungkwan and not the Prince of Tempests for once. 

Sleeping in was apparently not on Seungkwan’s agenda. That would be too easy and too kind, of course.

“His Majesty is already bitching about the clouds. He was trying to enjoy his morning coffee in the gardens when a storm swell came in. I can only assume that was you, Your Highness,” Hansol announces, busting into Seungkwan’s quarters with steady elegance and zero tact. 

Seungkwan glares at Hansol through his pillow mountain as Hansol shoves over Seungkwan’s legs to make room for himself even though there’s plenty of bed left for him to sit on without crowding Seungkwan’s hangover haven.

And Seungkwan is so mad. So mad. Hansol is dressed in his best: a lovely Italian silk black suit, with the most perfectly pressed navy pocket square with gold constellations embroidered. Hansol has no excuse for this because if Seungkwan recalls one Lord Chwe Hansol had twice the amount of mint juleps last night at Jeonghan’s hellish Midsummer party. 

And one Lord Chwe Hansol was slurring into his neck and pointing up to stars “T-that one of up there is Draco, Kwannie. Like that Harry Potter character. I _wish_ he had fucked Harry Potter. Would’ve made the mundane folks’ take on the magic planes so much better if had just fucked Harry.” 

“That’s not what you called me last night,” Seungkwan groans out.

“Oh shut up,” Hansol says with no bite behind it, slapping Seungkwan’s leg with the black leather notebook he carries around with him always. Hansol never lets him look in it no matter how much Seungkwan whines relentlessly about “the horrible nasty secrets the most noble Lord Chwe Hansol is keeping from me, how horrible and nasty of Chwe Hansol keeping secrets from the Prince.” 

Seungkwan _could_ demand for Hansol to show him what’s in his black journals, but he refuses to ever abuse his power like ever, let alone with Hansol. Hansol may be his retainer, advisor, and assistant but he’s still Seungkwan’s oldest and best friend. They were in diapers together for Gaia’s sake. They slept, ate, played, fought, and learned together. 

Never apart, except for the infrequent times Hansol and his family, the Duke and Duchess of Astra, left unexplainably during the Equinoxes every year until they were both eighteen, rudely leaving Seungkwan alone in The Royal Keep with nothing to amuse him but fabricating clouds indoors and having the staff scold him for making the marble hallways a hazard with the rain. 

He trusts Hansol with everything he has and to demand to see into a bit of Hansol’s private life would chip away at the bond between them. Yes, Hansol knows everything about him and he doesn’t know everything about Hansol and that’s okay.

Well that’s what Seungkwan tries to tell himself anyway. 

Seungkwan kicks at Hansol, basking is the pettiness of wrinkling Hansol’s suit pants. 

It’s the morning after Midsummer. At _Jeonghan’s_. No one, no Lord, especially no Prince, should even be remotely human after that. 

He flops over to give Hansol a haughty glare, “If Jeonghan put something in those drinks why do you have your shit together and I don’t?”

“Because _I_ can bug Lord Soon—,” Hansol starts.

“Can we reach the portion of our day when we stop using titles in private. I love when we reach that portion of the day. Yes, he is technically _Lord_ Soonyoung but also he hexed me until worms grew out my nose when we were like twelve-ish for saying his new haircut looked stupid. And it was stupid and I don’t regret telling him it at all,” Seungkwan says and flops around some more to rumple Hansol’s suit further.

“I do suspect that’s why he’s refusing to become the new court potion master when his mother steps down, afraid that he’ll get another stupid haircut and I’ll call him out on it,” Seungkwan whines and muses, cozying down further into his many goose feather duvets and the satisfaction of crumpled Italian silk.

“Oh, yeah that thing that happened when you were twelve is totally the reason why. Also, I can bug _Soonyoung_ for the modified hangover tonic he’s been developing and _you_ can’t accidentally be poisoned should he make a mistake. It’s part of the job, since you love to forget that we both have jobs.”

“Ah yes, the job of looking pretty and sitting behind my father’s fancy chair in my own fancy chair while he attempts to mollify the Navel’s preoccupation with committing a borderline genocide against the Fae. That job I allegedly love doing. That job where you are contractually obligated to be my best friend,” he spouts rubbing a hand over his eyes, attempting to rub them in some semblance of a minor healing sigil pattern. 

“It’s more like I’m contractually obligated to _not_ be your best friend and keep it professional but our fathers decided to throw me to the hound and say ‘this is your new chew toy’ when we were three and said to hell with that clause,” Hansol jokes back and hunches his shoulder in a bit, shedding the weight of being the Duke of Astra’s son to relax in the privacy of Seungkwan’s quarters, licking his thumb and flipping through pages of his journal. 

And Seungkwan is still hungover enough and still just-woke-up enough to allow himself to linger on Hansol’s pretty pink tongue flicking out to wet the pad of his thumb and let his gaze follow upward to appreciate the soft swoop of Hansol’s bottom lip for once. Just once, while he’s sleep-addled and can pretend Hansol and him aren’t who they are. Hey, wait.

“I am not a hound and I did not treat you like a chew toy! I resent that implication! It’s not my fault you let me kick you around when we were kids! You just weren’t fast enough to run away,” he prattles off, rolling over to lean on his elbow and look up at Hansol. He yawns deep enough to pop his jaw. Hansol gives him a blank look and sighs.

“Hey, speaking of Soonyoung, was it just me hallucinating or did he _actually_ Give Minghao his _fucking name_ cause he got too sloppy? In the like official way? Or was it me hallucinating Minghao finally leaving his artsy fartsy weed den of an apartment?” Seungkwan asks, lips puffed out due to him smushing his cheek into Hansol’s thigh, determined to ruin the perfectly curated public image of Lord Chwe Hansol any way he can. 

“Yeah, Soonyoung really did that. I’m sure it’s related to why you father moved his weekly appointment with you up to 10am while the rest of your schedule remains the same. As a gentle reminder, you have a charity appearance at 3pm with the Magical Humane Society and a 5pm meeting with the Marquis de Soleil at the Chateaux to discuss familiar rights with you. Also Mingyu asked me if you wanted to do drinks after the meeting with the Marquis and just crash there? So, get a move on, _Kwannie_.” Hansol gives him a shit-eating grin and pats Seungkwan on the cheek, moving to get off his bed.

Seungkwan notices him banish the black journal before he smooths down the wrinkles creased in his suit jacket and pants then twists to make sure the gold cufflinks bearing the Astra family crest were tightened properly. 

_“Motherfucker_ , I shouldn’t have brought those clouds in. If the man can’t see the sun for his morning coffee he takes it upon himself to ruin everyone else’s day,” Seungkwan grumbles, flinging off the covers and waves his hand in the direction of his wardrobe, hoping his magic doesn’t give him a clashing and garish look like it did the last time he tried to do this nonverbally. Pink and orange, for all they look like sherbet together does not a good outfit make. It felt all Dumb & Dumber reject. 

Hansol deftly steps to the side, letting Seungkwan’s suit whizz past his ear, barely disturbing today’s coifed white-blond hair despite looking down at his phone.

“Verdict on Mingyu?” he looks up to ask, “He just messaged me again asking what’s the mood,” then nodding in approval at Seungkwan’s magic selected suit.

“Absolutely yes to the drinks, aperol spritzes if possible, and I’m gonna need some charcuterie with a side of a scenic overlook of the cliffs and sea on the terrace after Jeonghan’s bullshit last night and my father’s bullshit in fifteen minutes and probably getting bitten by a testy abandoned familiar at this charity event. Are you coming with?” Seungkwan rambles, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. 

“Hm?” Hansol mumbles distractedly, tapping a responding to Mingyu. “Oh, no I can’t. The Duke is being a pain in the ass and I have a meeting with him later on tonight. Not even at The Navel. He’s actually making me go back to Nightside Place. So, in true noble fashion, both of our fathers are fucking up our days,” he says curtly, grabbing a tie tossed over the back of one of the many Art Nouveau style chairs in Seungkwan’s apartment, and crosses the room to Seungkwan.

Seungkwan holds a breath when Hansol’s long, nimble fingers graze the nape of the neck, flipping up his shirt collar to loop the silk tie around. And Hansol is so close, Seungkwan can smell the jasmine of the cologne he always wears and Seungkwan hates that he’s categorically stowed away these little truths about Hansol in his brain. Like how Hansol drinks a black coffee every single morning and he has to drink it while catching up on his Pokémon Go dailies or else he’ll be quietly cranky for the rest of the day. And how Hansol still favors the traditional all black even though it’s the 21st century and no one gives a shit about that particular traditional value. And how Hansol always, always feels more at peace with the stars above him. 

There’s so many tiny things about Hansol that send Seungkwan spiraling and he’s going to keep all these nuggets of information deep in chest and never think about them and then he’ll die and everything will be cool. He likes being physically close to Hansol when he can mentally prepare for it or make a bit out of it, but moments like this when Hansol catches him off guard are, well, trying. 

“I hope it’s nothing concerning,” Seungkwan remarks, desperately attempting to keep his cool and his voice steady while Hansol’s fingers are near the base of throat, gently coaxing the silk into a Windsor knot.

“It won’t be, unless it concerns you. You are always my top concern and always shall be, your Highness,” Hansol says, finishing the knot and slipping into back into uniform professionalism, bringing Seungkwan close only to slam a wall down between them just that quickly. “Now, shall we leave to meet with His Majesty in his study then? I suggest we Abscond. We’re nearly running late you know how testy and snippy His Majesty gets.” 

Hansol at least has a childish glint in his eye to soften the blow.

☾

“While that impressive display of conjuring was quite the spectacle this morning, you do you realize that despite the Royal Keep existing in its own plane, weather magic does affect the mundane world? There was quite the weather report to come out of Bali, did you hear? Supposed to be clear skies for the whole weak and an errant thunderstorm cloud appeared, causing three beaches to evacuate,” the King says plainly, flipping through a pile of memos on the large, ornate walnut desk in his study, eyes never once glancing up to Seungkwan. 

Seungkwan is no longer a witchling boy and hasn’t been for quite so time. He’s nearly twenty-five, passed all his certifications and has a dozen diplomas and plaques proving his competency and prowess, but the scolding from his father doesn’t sting any less. It’s pointless to get upset, silly to do so even, so he sits, controls the purse of his lips, and stares at the rows of tomes and grimoires and Tom Clancy novels eyes glazing over until his father eventually gets to the point. 

“Oh for Gaia’s sake Lord Chwe, please, sit down, no no no. Pull up a chair, sit next to Seungkwan. You’re practically family Hansol, you know this,” the King insists, finally setting aside his memos and taking off his reading glasses. 

Hansol reluctantly pulls up one of the thin intricately carved walnut chairs, sits crossing his legs gracefully and conjuring out his black notebook to take notes for the meeting. Seungkwan flicks his eyes over to Hansol and Hansol sends him a tiniest sympathetic look while the King is shuffling through more of the memos and correspondences, until he lets out a tiny “a-ha” and levitates the letter up in front of Seungkwan and Hansol.

Seungkwan squints and reads the words “union” “betrothal” “for the future of our realms” before his father interrupts with, “Seungkwan, you’re getting to the age where you must start thinking about many sort of marriage. I know your mother and I have been fairly lax with you over the years regarding your personal affairs, loathe as I am to allow it, but with recent pushback from the Blessèd Thirteen parliament regarding relations with the Fae Realms your marriage must be a political one.”

And all Seungkwan hears is static and white noise.

“I have been in discussions with the Oberon for several moons now, but we didn’t want to come to any decision but with recent developments, but we feel a marriage between you and the Prince of the Winter Court Minghao would be a display of peace and solidarity between the Fae and Witch realms in our current tumultuous predicament,” the King says plainly, steepling his hands underneath his chin. And Seungkwan just breathes in deeply, just knowing absolutely deep down in his gut what his father is about to say.

“The Winter Court humbly requests a union between you, Prince Boo Seungkwan and their son Prince Xu Minghao,” the King delivers plainly and diplomatically. 

And, really, the final nail in the coffin for Boo Seungkwan is Hansol, taking a deep breath and flicking open his notebook and in a too professional tone for this entire nightmare hellscape situation saying: 

“Who would like me to contact for the planning of the wedding, Your Majesty?” 

☾

When Seungkwan was a young witchling, conjuring clouds to sit on and zoom around the ground of the Royal Keep screaming his little head off that he was Goku and the cloud was his Flying Nimbus and Hansol just _had_ to be Master Roshi because he hunched over just like him so obviously he had to be Master Roshi, Prince Xu Minghao would visit the witch planes in the Spring when the Oberon wasn’t in power for the season and it was the Titania’s turn. 

And Prince Minghao was, and well still is, a curious and precocious creature. And Prince Minghao is tricksy. And when they were kids, he was really fucking annoying actually. When they were younger he was more volatile, a maelstrom waiting to happen, but he mellowed to a gentle snowfall with age. However, Seungkwan always looked for forward to his visits when they were kids because Minghao _got it_. 

Yes, all of Seungkwan’s other friends were the children of the Blessèd Thirteen families, but they weren’t proper royal. And yes, they had their own set of obligations of inheriting family businesses, managing estates, ascending the political hierarchy, but no one had the job of eventually rectifying the aftermath of the Great Fae War. 

The aftermath of which shouldn’t have been hard to solve. Initially, the plan was to have some public gestures of friendship and atonement for atrocities committed by both sides, trade and commerce tariffs passed, all the political and economical mumbo jumbo that Seungkwan knew the proper workings of but didn’t care to dedicate too much brain space to since ,well, things had been going very smoothly until five years ago. 

Five years ago, the only son of a Blessèd Thirteen duke abdicated and fled the witching planes to join the Summer Realm. 

Then the narrative spun by the conservative members of the Navel was the Fae were stealing away our children again, luring them away with false promises of eternal youth and endless magic and beautiful long summer days where the weather was always mild and kind. Or worse, bewitching them with Fae magic to force witchlings to give up their names without them knowing what was going on until it was too late and they were already whisked away to the Fae realms. 

But still, Minghao understood the pressures of being royal. Important only because they had the right kind of magic and the right kind of lineage. Nothing based on merit or morals, just based on what family they happened to be born into. All they had to do was make sure they didn’t do anything stupid enough to be detrimental to the public images and personas of the monarchy in the eyes of the public. 

So, Seungkwan and Minghao were constantly shoved together for the sake of inter-realm cooperation. 

Seungkwan spent weeks in the crystalline towers of the Winter Court palace learning Faespeech, chasing Minghao through the plush snows of the palace grounds over the perfectly arched cobblestone bridge that crossed the river, running his fingers over the geometric carvings of the ivory and limestone byways connecting the palace to the marketplace, and sobbing in Minghao’s huge goose feather bed every night while Minghao soothed him by saying “I miss Hansol too, but you know how his parents feel,” all throughout their childhoods. 

Witch and Fae tabloids alike ran stories on the whether the Celestial Crew, (a horrible nickname made up for the sons of the Duke of Astra, the Marquis de Soleil, and the Duke of Penumbra: Hansol, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Wonwoo), were actually friends or was it all a political tool to ploy the witches and fae to get along in the post-war years. The tabloids ran paparazzi shots of them all underage drinking white wine on the patios of bistros in Soleil territory, but those were the same publications The Royal Keep planned apple picking photo-ops with at Halfmoon Orchards every Harvest, the perfect publicity stunt to show the generational power of the two Princes and the Celestial Crew .

Their relationship soured briefly in the winter of Seungkwan’s eighteenth year, when his friends (and Minghao who he _trusted_ ) had started to tease. Poking and jabbing about how close he and Hansol were, much too close emotionally and physically than any future monarch and retainer were supposed to be. They, specifically Soonyoung, made jokes about how Seungkwan would do _anything_ for Hansol and how Seungkwan would lay down his life to make sure his precious ickle Hansol was safe and how Seungkwan always, always wanted Hansol to focus on him and only him. 

It was two days after the Solstice Gala ended. All the Blessèd Thirteen were still guests of the Winter Palace, spending time in their court in anticipation of celebrating Seungkwan’s birthday. It was before the Titania and Prince Joshua of the Summer Realms went back to their side of the river. The sons of the realms’ most powerful men piled in Minghao’s chambers, tiny rooms sequestered off by ornate portals leading from his sitting room, his drawing room, and bedroom too keep the cold at bay. It was Minghao, Soonyoung, and Seungkwan all tucked with hot cups of wassail gossiping while the others played a game in the other rooms. 

Soonyoung decided to tease “it’s really quite interesting, Kwannie, how the world’s tiniest storm cloud pops up above your head anytime Hansol doesn’t have one hundred per cent of his attention on you! Minghao, Minghao did you noticed, how lightning crackled when Mingyu rested his chin on top of Hansol’s head at the Gala and how thunder clapped when Mingyu pulled Hansol onto the dance floor so they could waltz,” Soonyoung’s monologue was interrupted by Minghao’s barely stiffled giggles “And I swear on Gaia, the rain drop that hit Prince Joshua in the eye when Mingyu kissed Hansol on the cheek was the funniest fucking thing I’ve _ever_ seen. I think that’s the most fascinating and hysterical thing. Don’t you find that just so _interesting_ , Minghao?” and then Seungkwan punched Soonyoung in the nose. 

Minghao’s laughter stung like betrayal and thorns.

Oddly enough, that was the same Winter Hansol started to shove more and more boundaries between them under the guise of noble etiquette and “respect for his Highness,” and by the time Hansol turned eighteen, it was like pulling teeth just to get Hansol to call him just Kwannie again in private.

Regardless of what happened that Winter, Seungkwan would still consider Minghao one of his closest friends. In recent months Minghao has taken hosting salons and symposiums (as Minghao would call them but mostly they were definitely parties where they smoked and avoided duties and obligations and sometimes made art) in his apartment he fabricated in the magic neighborhood of Brooklyn. 

Seungkwan, Hansol, Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Wonwoo went to his apartment-warming bringing the traditional bushels of holly and poinsettias of the Winter Court but Minghao, already drunk on Thymelands’s finest dandelion mead, and knocked them out of Seungkwan’s hands slurring with spite“I don’t wanna see any shit that reminds me of that place anymore.” In a fit of anger, Seungkwan decided that if Minghao was going to be rude and not even text anymore, that Minghao could come crawling back to him eventually after getting his rebellious and angry phase out of his system.

They hadn’t seen Minghao in a year until last night at Jeonghan's party.

And now he’s Seungkwan’s fiancé. 

☾

“And then I whined to Hansol, you know how I love to whine to Hansol, ‘I can’t believe you’re leaving me in my hour of need!’ And then he didn’t even bother to attempt to look apologetic about it. Absolutely ridiculous. Had to meet with the fucking Duke. Pfft, meet the other end of a lightning spell, Hansollie,” Seungkwan complains, pausing to take a dramatic sip of the valencia orange aperol spritz and munching down a cracker smeared with goat cheese and blackberry compote, then feeding one to Mingyu’s familiar. 

Mingyu frowns at Seungkwan from behind his wine glass because Paul has been putting on a few too many pounds recently and sunbears aren’t supposed to be that rotund. 

The sun is setting over the water, washing the entire terraced cliffside dotted with villas and bistros and jazz clubs in goldenrod and magenta. Everything was easier at the Chateaux, where they had twice the size wine cellar than at the Royal Keep and a Michelin rated chef on staff. 

Mingyu waves their waiter over and asks him to bring out a salade niçoise Paul, who whines out a grunt and sticks his long tongue out at Mingyu in return. 

“What, I thought salade niçoise was your favorite! Anyway Kwannie, you know Hansol can’t say no to the Duke even if he wanted to. He’s got a such a short leash on him and it probably has something to do with your recent engagement,” Mingyu says, titling his Versace sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at Seungkwan properly.

“Please talk to me about anything but the engagement, it’s been less than twelve hours since I found out which means it’s less than thirty six hours until the press finds out, and I would like to live in blissful bachelordom for as long as I can, so please tell me about your latest plan to get into Wonwoo’s pants,” Seungkwan pleads. Paul makes happy sounds at the sight of his salade niçoise approaching, wiggles around in the wicker chair he’s seated in, and Seungkwan gives him a pat on the head.

“Oh, to be a fat and happy sunbear eating niçoise to his heart’s content. Nary a care in the world except for protecting Mingyu and rolling around in the grass. You live a lovely life, Paul. Be thankful you’re Mingyu’s familiar,” Seungkwan waxes at Paul, who looks up from the mess he’s made, an errant piece of tuna stuck to his snout. 

“Paul! We are in public,” scolds Mingyu. Paul humphs, lolls out his tongue to lick it off and petulantly stabs a claw through a piece of lettuce, daintily placing it in his mouth, glaring at Mingyu all the while. 

Mingyu squints at the two of them and huffs.

“Pfft, I’m not getting into Wonwoo’s pants anytime soon, so instead I will continue pining away hoping that one day he’ll stop being so obtuse and oblivious. He’s too focused on his latest project.”

“Oh? A project?”

“Yeah, he’s been debating, internally and also by sending me frantic texts spiraling out of his mind at 3am, whether or not he wants to take the title of Duke of Penumbra. It seems like he really doesn’t want to do it, but hasn’t said anything to his dad. He’s been Absconding to New England every other day for the past two weeks scoping out retail properties. He’s decided he’s going to become a shopkeep,” Mingyu says, smoothing out the linen of his loose pants. 

Seungkwan lets out a noise of surprise around another sip of his spritz. 

“Gaia, I hope it’s not one of those witch shops that caters to tourists looking for rose quartz to keep in their pockets and non-enchanted tarot decks. Please tell me he’s not looking at fucking _Salem_.” 

“Thankfully, no and no. Legitimate witch shop and everything, but looking to settle in a mundane neighborhood but cater to rural witches. He’d been talking to officials at the Thymelands to see if they would consider selling wholesale herbs and rarer plants to put in his shop, but something came up and they backed out of the business deal. Something about something coming up at the Keep that required more of their resources,” Mingyu says, leaning over to wipe Paul’s face with his cloth napkin, and frowns at the smear of tuna salad left. 

“Something at the Keep? Normally, my father keeps me in the loop regarding any trade or deal he makes with a Blessèd Thirteen. I haven’t even seen Baron and Baronness Kwon over for high tea recently,” Seungkwan asks, suspicious. His father likes him to keep a detailed report of the inner workings of the Royal Keeps public and private affairs, especially when it comes to members of the Blessèd Thirteen who serve in the Navel parliament. 

“Yeah, I dunno. The Old Marquis doesn’t know what’s going on with that either, I asked him about it. Normally, the Thymelands would request bottled sunlight from our stores when they have a special project for the Keep. Some of rarer and more finnicky plants prefer the sunlight from the Soleil magic versus the actual sun, quite a mighty high compliment honestly, so they request bottles from our private supply. But the Old Marquis said he hasn’t seen or heard from the Thymelands since they did the floral arrangements for Seungcheol’s wedding two months ago,” Mingyu replies, nibbling on a buttered baguette and offers it out to Paul who also takes a dainty nibble. 

“I’ll be sure to ask father about it, I don’t like not knowing what’s going on in my own home.”

“You’re just nosey and live for the drama, but it’s probably for your wedding anyway. The King didn’t say anything to you about the engagement until today, but has been in talks with the Oberon for years about the potential prospect of an arranged marriage between you and Minghao. The Thymelands probably have had a monopoly on doing the flowers for your wedding since before you were born,” Mingyu chides. 

“Hmm, you might be right,” Seungkwan says. He’s still suspicious though. The Thymelands have never been a secretive about their doings, preferring to flaunt their accolades and accomplishments, probably compensating for them only holding the title of Barons if Seungkwan had to guess. His father likes the Kwons, but has very little patience for their showmanship. 

“And I think before Soonyoung fucked up so badly last night, Wonwoo and him reached an agreement that Soonyoung would be the personal supplier for his shop,” Mingyu says.

“Gaia, I’ve been so caught up fighting off my hangover from hell and the news of my recent betrothal that I completely forgot Soonyoung bound himself to Minghao. Fuck, how do you have to be so stupid,” remarks Seungkwan, tearing off a piece of the baguette to hand to Paul before Mingyu smacks it out of his hand.

“Yeah, no one’s seen or heard from him since that. Last I heard from Jeonghan who heard it from Minhyuk, that Soonyoung’s roommate, Seokmin, scried that he was in Brooklyn so he’s like probably fine,” Mingyu waves off.

“Shit, Soonyoung’s living with Seokmin? Where have I been for the past fucking year?” Seungkwan questions, running a hand over his face. 

Mingyu just gives him a sympathetic look and a half smile, “Sometimes when you have your nose to the grindstone training your ass off to be the youngest storm witch in a millennia to get Order of Nimbostratus you miss some shit. We don’t fault you for not being up to date with every single thing that happens in our social circle.” 

Night has fallen on The Chateaux’s cliffside. The lanterns floating above the bistro patios illuminate the ripples of the dark water and Seungkwan stares contemplatively into the inlet’s sway. 

It’s been a long year of Hansol bringing him espresso on ice in the quiet hours of the night in the Keep’s library and his chest always aching with the echoes of thunder claps and taking tonic upon tonic to get the numbing crackle of wild lightning out of palms just so he could finally fall asleep. 

But he did it, by some stroke of dumb luck he made Nimbostratus. The King doesn’t even rank that highly among the storm witches.

“None of us are doing anything worthwhile anyway, just listening to our parents bitch about the encroaching Fae presence in the witch planes. The Old Marquis saw a Fae family while we were out in the markets yesterday and took it upon himself to loudly complain about ‘their kind’ in public and he nearly hexed me when I told him to quit it,” Mingyu continues.

And Seungkwan fumes a bit, a faint crackle at his fingertips. Despite all that happened with the war, the Fae have shown again and again that the usurpation by the previous Oberon was all due to corruption and dissension between the Winter Court and Summer Realm. 

This was not an inherently Fae issue, this was a government issue. An issue birthed out of power hungry malice and greed, the previous Oberon wanting to reign supreme executive power over all the Fae realms, no longer wishing to hand the power over to the Titania in the Summer. The Oberon had just dragged the Witching planes into it, invoking dormant prejudices to aid his squandering of the Summer realms.

There was blood shed and lives lost and magic erased on both sides. Both sides at fault. There is no reason for the Fae to take all the blame and make all the rectification efforts. There is no reason for them to taxed, no reason for them to be heckled in the streets, when witches can walk around like they weren’t complicit as well. It’s utter bullshit according to Seungkwan. 

He’s spent more time around the Fae and living amongst them in all his childhood than most witches will ever experience in their entire lives. He knows them. 

However, Seungkwan recalls a Solstice Gala when he was sixteen, sipping at wassail underneath the white marble arches leading into the Winter Palace’s gardens when a beautiful fae boy, Seungkwan thinks he was named Junhui approached him and led him underneath the starlight and mistletoe. Seungkwan was so besotted. They danced together, all alone, obscured by the Douglas firs protecting them from the bodies in the party and Junhui leaned down and whispered against Seungkwan’s lips “you, your Highness contain storms in you that no one can weather yet you are fairer than any witch here. Are you don’t belong amongst the Fae, always? Not just in the Winters.” 

Startled, Seungkwan had flung himself away from Junhui’s embrace and ran back in to the Gala desperate to find Hansol, to tell him that the storms he has won’t hurt him or anyone, that he belongs with the witches, that he doesn’t want to stay in the cold all year round. He had mumbled into Hansol’s hair when Hansol had swept him away from the main hall “the icicles are beautiful, Hansol, but I don’t want to be cold. I don’t want my storms to be frozen over,” and Hansol shushed him and stroked up and down Seungkwan’s back, underneath his caplet. 

“I’ll be sure to let my father know about The Old Marquis’s comments, the King can admonish but there’s not much he can do about the position his holds in Parliament. He might be able to convince the Duke of Astra to give him a strike and ban him from the Coven this month,” Seungkwan offers. But Mingyu waves him off. 

“Don’t bother because it’ll just come back to bite me in the ass. And you _know_ Astra would never. The Old Marquis has been busting my ass more often as of late, he wants me to leave the Academy of Art and focus on finally learning what it takes to be the next Marquis de Soleil,” Mingyu say.

“But he’s the one who told you could ‘follow your dreams’ and—”

“‘Your cousin would make a better Marquis anyway.’ I know but Seungcheol’s off honeymooning with Jihoon and with Chan leaving for the Summer Realm, tensions have been high in the Navel. The Old Marquis is quickly realizing I’m gonna be the next title holder of this damned rock of a castle,” Mingyu shrugs and Paul takes it upon himself to nuzzle and lick Mingyu’s face. Mingyu smiles at the affection and shoots back the rest of his spritz.

“All right, fuck this politics and family talk. Let’s leave this tired ass place and let’s go _dancing_. What say you, Your Highness?” Mingyu declares, eyebrow cocked, and Seungkwan gives him a wry smile and nods. Paul claps his claws together.

The night is still young and warm and waves are teasing, and Seungkwan is going to treat this like his last night of freedom

☾

Hansol sits ramrod straight in an understuffed chair in his father’s study. The navy and gold brocade itches through the fabric of his suit pants. The heirloom astroglobe silently teeters and sways on the Duke’s ebony desk. Hansol ignores the movement to match the Duke’s heavy gaze. He would be stupid to show any sign of weakness in front of his father. It takes everything in him to focus on the smarmy grin stretching across the Duke’s features and not let his mind wander to Seungkwan’s blank, schooled expression in His Majesty’s study, the way he felt the barometric pressure drop in that room. 

“With the sudden announcement of Prince Boo Seungkwan and Prince Xu Minghao’s engagement, members of the Blessèd Thirteen and high ranking members of the Navel parliament have expressed immense dissatisfaction of this future union given the Fae’s recent actions against witching society. 

The abduction of Earl Lee’s son Lord Chan earlier this year proved that the Fae have no respect for our society and way of life. They fight back despite all the chances and graces we’ve given them to rectify their war crimes,. The King and Queen see no issue with the havoc they have wrecked and strife they have brought to our lives, obviously given how soft and forgiving they are despite the King’s own father having been murdered in cold blood by the Oberon. 

This is the final straw. The Tempest family does not have our world’s best interests at heart. They wish to unify our worlds with this stunt marriage,” the Duke says with anger and a fist slammed onto his dekstop. Hansol does not jump, he does not startle.

“Long have I anticipated this day, my son. This is why you have been with the Prince since you were born. To learn about the family, have them treat you like one of their own, another son they never had. Because my boy, we and several members of the Parliament and Blessèd Thirteen have come to the conclusion that the only way to save our world is make sure we have a world without the Tempest royal family in it.”

Hansol gulps and his stars supernova out.

**Author's Note:**

> oops it’s all lore!!! 
> 
> i cannot guarantee when updates will be, but i don't plan on abandoning this story any time soon i can promise you that! thank you for taking a chance on a 1/? wip tho
> 
> [twit](https://www.twitter.com/skateboardachoo) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/wizardshinwon)


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